


Pretty Woman

by williamastankova



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: ;), Anal Sex, Friends With Benefits, Gay Sex, M/M, Murder Husbands, No kissing allowed, Oral Sex, Post-Season/Series 03, Romance, Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sort Of, The Ladder Scene (Hannibal), actually, i don't know what to tell you, just a lot of sex, ladder sex, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 02:42:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18421164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamastankova/pseuds/williamastankova
Summary: Will's happy with what they have, don't be misunderstood. But part of him just wants... more.





	Pretty Woman

Frustration. That was all this was, really. A method for two convict/cannibals on the run together, trying not to attract too much attention to themselves, being unable to meet anybody else - trust anybody else, even just for a night of pleasure - to take out their frustrations on each other.

It wasn't love.

Whatever they did, how far they went, it didn't equal love. It was sex, they'd established the very first time. Fantastic sex at that, but sex all the same. When they wanted it, they could have it, granted the other was around and also not opposed to partaking (hell, they might have been psychotic, but they weren't sick: even they had their boundaries). Will favoured being hunted down by Hannibal, who he'd pretend he didn't see lurking around him in their little quaint living space - classically European-built, granted that was where they lived now, at least for the time being. He'd go about his cleaning, his relaxing, his anything, until Hannibal's focus snapped and he had to have him.

Then came the fun part. Then, he'd come for Will. He'd shift out of the floorboards, slip from the walls, stop preying on him and get what he so obviously craved. Will knew he was being submissive. It was pretty damn hard to deny, what with how he just about melted whenever Hannibal kissed his body. For example, just a couple of days ago, he'd been fiddling with some papers, reorganising the desk, when Hannibal had sneaked behind him and tugged his t-shirt collar down to trail kisses down the newly exposed ridges of his spine. He'd shuddered, and only stopped falling right over when Hannibal's hands firmly grasped his hips and his body pressed hotly against his own.

The thing was, their boundaries expanded further that just 'don't force yourself on to people who say no', which Will had assumed was a pretty common boundary for people. No, their sexual relationship also had one more key rule: no kissing on the mouth. He couldn't really remember who'd established that and when, but he knew that if they didn't have it he'd have had about fifteen breakdowns already. Even just the thought of kissing Hannibal - sweetly, passionately, desperately - but having it mean nothing after they'd finished... it was unbearable.

He'd never thought 'friends with benefits' was a real thing. He'd seen his fair share of movies, yeah, and they always talked about the best friends who became so agitated with the hassle finding one-night stands that they agreed to sleep together, but in real life it wasn't like that. Or, rather, it wasn't meant to be like that, but when he brought it up once, after they'd finished up, he'd watched how Hannibal had reacted and knew he'd struck a chord somewhere, somehow.

"Are we friends with benefits?"

The question had fallen casually off of his tongue, and as surprised as he was he was pretty sure it wasn't such a weird thing to ask. After all, they'd literally just finished having sex with one another, surely this wasn't any more intimate, right? He wasn't so sure Hannibal would concur.

As he rolled out of bed, the doctor fumbled around rather unceremoniously for his trousers to put back on, and Will felt somewhat bemused. Despite his normal meticulous presentation and ability to have everybody believe he was simply a well-to-do, put-together man, he could see past it. Will, in times like these, knew more about Hannibal than he supposed anybody ever had, and he couldn't fathom living a life without him in it. Platonically, of course.

"I don't know," Hannibal resolved, sounding frank, then turned the question on him as he refused to look back at him, instead opting to do up his fly and belt. "What do you believe we are?"

Will exhaled through his nostrils, showing some form of amusement, alongside frustration. He'd thrown the question back to him. "You're not my therapist anymore, Doctor Lecter."

"I never thought I was." Hannibal's voice let slip his jest, and he finally looked at Will over his shoulder, "I always thought of you more as a friend, who paid to see me once a week."

"Yeah, well, I thought you were a normal, non-murderous doctor, but here we are." Will then felt his own smile drop an inch, "I'm serious. What is this? What's going on with us? Am I your friend, or is this like... Pretty Woman?"

It was Hannibal's turn to laugh, but Will only saw half of his smile as he turned back to put his shirt on. Feeling suddenly bare, Will double-checked the comforter was covering his body, then awaited Hannibal's reply.

"That film was about a prostitute. In case you're confused, Will, you're not my prostitute." He said, and Will found it hard to gauge this time how serious he was being, because of his inability to read his face. "I suppose 'friends with benefits' does best describe our situation. That is, if you want to label it at all."

"I do," Will felt immediate regret and shame at his eagerness to respond, and how desperate he sounded as he did. Even so, he'd done it now, so there was no point in trying to hide it, nor go back and try to undo what had been said.

"Be careful, Will," Hannibal sounded macabre now, and there was no doubt in Will's mind he was serious. "Labeling things can lead to dangerous situations."

Like with many of their previous conversations, by the time he's left alone to really consider what's been said, Will thinks it might have been less confusing for him to have never asked in the first place. At least then he could remain blissfully unaware, unlike he was feeling right about now.

***

It doesn't take long for him to forget the conversation, or at the very least briefly discard it to the depths of his mind. It's Friday, he knows. Eight in the evening, he thinks. It doesn't really matter, once he's up against the wall, feeling hot breath pouring over him, washing down his body in ripples of chills, and it's striking up patches of goosebumps all over his skin. He can't help but smile like a mad man.

"Somebody's eager," he teases, but Hannibal doesn't respond.

The doctor makes short work of his shirt, all but tearing it off of his body as he slips a knee between Will's legs, simultaneously providing both of them a means to rut to relief any building frustration. With Will's naked torso, he builds a canvas. He first peppers kisses across his shoulders, stopping at the spot he's come to learn is very ticklish for Will just beneath his ears. Then, when he feels he's sufficiently praised Will, he takes to biting. Bringing him down with sharp teeth - dangerous, and so obviously carnivorous that Will's surprised he didn't realise Hannibal was a cannibal sooner.

He nips at his neck, then brings the hands formerly on Will's waist to his sides and uncovers surprisingly sharp nails, impaling them into Will's flesh and dragging them upwards, stopping when his hands hit Will's armpits. The younger man makes an embarrassing noise, not unlike that of a squealing pig, and writhes, but doesn't try to escape. He doesn't want to.

Will can't remember ever having met somebody more skilled in the bedroom. As to be expected, every encounter seems orchestrated, and if Will hadn't known Hannibal for as long as he had, he'd have suspected it was his plan all along to bed him. Whenever Hannibal wants him, Will knows it, but the older man lets him wade in the feeling of desire for some time, knowing how he secretly craves such affection. No, not affection, he shouldn't be using that word, because affection implies feelings, and there were no feelings between the two of them - that much was known for certain.

Feeling himself becoming lost in his own head, Will forced himself back out. He hated losing track of the moment almost as much as Hannibal hated when he did, so he made himself feel every mark that Hannibal was leaving on him, from the red streaks forming, running down his sides, to the bruises the doctor was sucking into the crook of his neck. His smile returned, having fallen when he became lost in his mind, and he brought his hands to Hannibal's shirt-covered back, half-heartedly trying to leave some marks of his own through the fabric.

Hannibal, at detecting this, makes a sort of animalistic noise, and bites down on Will's neck. In many ways, Will thinks privately, sleeping with Hannibal is sort of like sleeping with a werewolf or a vampire. After all, he's got teeth so sharp that there's no doubt in Will's mind that they could pierce his skin if he wanted them to. He's considering asking if Hannibal had them filed for effect at any point, but then Hannibal's got his hands down the front of his pants and just about every coherent thought he's ever had is straight out of the window.

"Hannibal," he breathes, shocked by how needy his voice sounds. He doesn't have anything else to say, with the name being the only word swimming around his head, and so he lets himself be handled by Hannibal, who grows impatient and deftly undoes his jeans and pulls them down. It's around about here that Will all but blacks out, only being able to make little sounds at the feeling of Hannibal's mouth wrapping around his length. His fingers gratefully tangle in the cropped hair beneath him, and his back is more than pleased by the grounding wall behind him.

It's over too soon, but Will knows there's no way he could have possibly stopped himself, even if he wanted to. Before he knows it, he's seeing white, then he's watching as Hannibal pops off of him but doesn't rise to his feet, instead opting to remain kneeled before him as he undoes himself and pulls out his own member. Bordering on frantic, he releases guttural sounds as he touches himself, uncharacteristically uncoordinated and desperate. Will almost feels pitiful, and he supposes this is why he kneels before Hannibal and, ignoring the look he's given as he does so, reaches out to touch him.

Hannibal, despite the varying factors about themselves and their bodies, has a cock relatively similar to his own. Not ridiculously large, but comfortable and reasonable. Will likes this about him. He likes it because it means that, in times like these, he can help Hannibal reach his own climax without having to adjust very much at all. With Hannibal's eyes intently on him, it doesn't take any longer than a minute for the doctor's legs to shake and buckle beneath him, and then he's spilling across the floor in a manner one may consider mortifying if not granted the hotness of the situation.

Will finally looks up to Hannibal's face and releases his member. There's a brief moment where they both realise how close they've become in the desperation of it all, and for a second Will's just confused, but then Hannibal is looking away and muttering something Will can only imagine is an attempt at humour about the mess on the floor that he'll have to clean up. There's no way he'd actually stop to talk about what was wandering through his mind just seconds ago, because that's real, and they - as a _they_  - are about as far from real as you can get.

***

Despite what he claims, Hannibal is sentimental. In the materialistic sense, at least, because when they were both in the recovery stages after their fall, one of the first things Hannibal confessed to him was that he wished to be able to purchase a ladder like the one he'd had previously in his office. A piece of home, Will thought he'd called it, though that could have been his own empathy getting in the way of the truth. It was entirely possible.

When they'd first come to the small home they now resided in, they had agreed it was well worth waiting to see just how safe it was before they began settling in properly. After the first two months or so, they concurred that it was probably okay to begin living a normal civilian life, granted that they always stayed at least somewhat on their toes. This said, however, Will gave Hannibal the go-ahead that, as juvenile as it seemed, it was time for him to buy the ladder, and whatever other items he wanted to transfer into their new lives.

Among other things, they purchased the ladder one evening, and the next day it seemed as though it had been there forever - like they had been there forever. Will pretended not to notice how a small smile would cross Hannibal's face whenever he saw it, because he feared that if he mentioned it he may stop. He simply relished in the look of familiarity on Hannibal's sharp features, and the new addition to their living room had come to be accepted as a part of their daily life.

It was, however, seen in a different light when, after they had begun their sexual relationship, Will found himself looking longingly at it. For the longest time, he hadn't a clue why this was, until one day - completely by accident - he stumbled across the cause.

They had just gotten back from a short shopping trip. Well, rather, the trip was cut short by Hannibal who, after witnessing how stunning Will looked - was it really possible that Europe improved somebody's attractiveness? - ordered that they catch the next bus home. The look on his face was not something Will would ever and could ever deny, or even dream to disagree with.

It took less than a second when they shut the door for Hannibal to pounce on him. He was shoved, rather abruptly, back against the door he had just closed over, and he briefly thought that Hannibal was going to break their rules, what with how close to his lips he came. Instead, however, he pressed his entire face against Will's and inhaled, almost causing the younger man to crack up, but then he spoke.

"You, Will," he said, voice husky, almost raspy, "are sensational."

Will had to admit that that word hadn't so often been used to describe him. Normally he was called 'handsome' by past lovers, but even then they became bored of his looks and he instead became known as 'dull'. But Hannibal - oh, _Hannibal_ \- seemed ever entranced by his features, and now, after everything, he was still here, calling him silly, long words, almost like a lover might do.

Will let Hannibal have his fun at first, but after a few moments felt the need grow too much within himself. He suddenly pushed the man away from him, in a manner they had both grown to know as teasing, and held his dark eye as he looked offended. He had to admit that the loss of Hannibal's heat from _everywhere_  was disappointing, but it was more than made up for by the doubled-up heat that came back to him and pressed him back against the frame of the door, kissing into his neck and making his back arch with nimble fingers slipping up his shirt and landing on his ribs.

He cradled Hannibal's head in his hands, trapping him in the slant of his neck, forcing the man who wasn't fighting to pepper endless kisses down his neck. He might have tilted his head back and rested it against the door, had the position not felt so brilliant. He had a sudden intrusive thought, stemming from a sight behind Hannibal that caught his eye. He thought that, though their current stance was more than amenable, there may have been an even better one.

Unlike the last time, when he pushed Hannibal back again and met his maroon, heavy-lidded eyes, he wasn't trying to play with him. At arm's length (well, more like half-arm's length, because he really couldn't bear to be that far away from Hannibal again), he managed to form a sentence, attempting to coherently communicate his thoughts.

"The ladder," he said intelligently, "please."

Seeming to somehow understand, Hannibal turned his attention to the object of interest just over his shoulder, then nodded. Being unable to separate, they walked across the room side-by-side and with speed, eyeing one another along the way. Then, when Will willingly shoved himself back against the hard ladder and felt all of a sudden light-headed from the knowledge of what was to come.

He let Hannibal grip his neck and lay his head back for him. He was a little upset that he wouldn't be able to see much of what Hannibal was doing to him, but when the man started working on him, he couldn't help but feeling like it was a worthy sacrifice.

The doctor stroked his torso down through his shirt, and only when he reached the bottom did he pinch the hem and pull it upwards, urging Will's help to remove it. Newly shirtless, he felt cold momentarily, until Hannibal's hands returned and - unlike he had favoured previously - didn't scratch him. Rather, the hot fingertips praised him, serenaded his skin and drilled hymns into his very core. This was the feeling Will had when Hannibal watched him. This was, perhaps, the thing he was confusing for _affection_. It certainly felt identical, anyway.

Hannibal took a moment to admire the pale skin hidden beneath the discarded shirt, then seemed to return to himself as he went to undo Will's trousers, too. The sitting man shifted, feeling something akin to discomfort, because - as much as they'd done - he'd never been quite so exposed, whilst Hannibal remained virtually untouched. Even so, he found he rather liked the new sensation, and so let himself be undressed until he was sat, naked, on the ladder, sprawled before Hannibal's eyes, like delicious, easy prey.

The thought had crossed Will's mind more than once that, if Hannibal so wanted to, he could kill him at any point. While Will was not quite the man he used to be, Hannibal was far more accustomed to this life than he, and there was little comparison to be made about their skills in the fighting area. Will, with a gun, could take him out relatively easy. However, these days, he could be caught off-guard at any moment, and Hannibal was much more skilled with his hands than he was.

This was especially true when it came to situations like this, where Hannibal had Will before him, pliant and willing to do anything. He worked Will with his hands at first, beginning with his cock and then slowly moving his attention to his rear. Hannibal's focus was beyond commendable, because while he remained relatively relaxed and intent, Will was having trouble thinking of one single thing for more than three seconds. Hannibal had, while he was thinking to himself, unzipped his bottoms and removed his member from its restraints.

When he, apparently, deemed Will ready, Hannibal moved away for a moment, then returned and took a moment to do something Will - who was still not looking - could not see. He then parted Will's legs carefully, hands stroking the soft skin of his thighs for just a little longer than necessity called for, then positioned himself at Will's entrance, stopping before going any further.

"Will," Hannibal's voice said his name in such a sweet way, even in times like these, "Is this okay?"

"Yes, yes," Will confirmed - pleaded - and nodded more times than he realistically had to, "I want you."

Having received not one, but two eager go-aheads, Hannibal returned his attention to the current task and penetrated Will, but didn't quite sheath himself yet. Shallowly, he began thrusting into Will, withdrawing every couple of inches or so. Will, in the moment, wasn't quite sure if this was a deliberate tease, of sincere concern for Will's body's capacity to take such a sudden intrusion. Regardless, he grew more needy, and when he hit his maximum, he finally sat up and looked Hannibal in the face.

"Go deeper," he breathed, noticing how Hannibal's face contorted at having had his wordless instructions disobeyed. Eventually, he nodded once, then grasped Will's hips tightly and bottomed out inside of him. The pleasure and pain were almost unbearable, and Will's mouth fell open in a wide 'o'. Hannibal, ever the gentleman, still tried to accomodate Will, and refused to move too fast, at least to begin with.

Only when Will's arms came and hooked around him did he get the message. As Will began pulling him closer to him, Hannibal took the hint, and dug his face into Will's shoulder, where he alternated kisses and bites, meanwhile speeding up his thrusts into Will. The latter had already lost himself in the feeling of euphoria that washed over him when he was filled by Hannibal. It was beyond comprehension that anything could feel this good; in a reasonable mind, it was intelligent to conclude that the newfound emotions and stimulation was a direct result of their shifted positions, with Will so easily accessible to Hannibal. There was very little holding them back.

In the most shocking way, Will couldn't really tell when he was finishing until ropes of white coated his stomach and upper arm, because the entire way he felt as though he were on cloud nine. It sounded cheesy to say it, but part of him couldn't believe that the pleasure was solely because of biology and the mathematics of their angles. Part of him - the soppiest part, the part that he kept locked in the depths of his mind and rarely ever allowed to speak - broke through and told him that it was because it was Hannibal, and it could never feel so good with anybody else.

Hannibal continued to fuck into him through and after his high. A twisted part of him loved the feeling of being used, filled, even when he himself was so empty. He adored the odd motion of Hannibal entering and leaving him, then eventually filling him to the brim. Optional objectification could be, as he now saw, a serious turn-on, when it was between the right people.

While Hannibal came down from his high, he remained inside of Will, and the younger man caught that he had begun absently running his fingers down his back, painting invisible, swirling shapes onto the unmarked skin there. He concealed his smile in the older man's neck and, when he went to pull way, Will regained his composure and straightened his mouth, acting all business-like when Hannibal pulled out of him and left to clean them up.

Then, as expected and all too soon, the moment was gone.

***

It was a ground rule that they didn't kiss. However, this didn't mean that they couldn't indulge in the romantic aspects of sex, surely?

This debate waged on inside of Will's skull, and he decided to ignore both sides and do what he felt was right. This, apparently, was to go ahead with the 'romantic' plan, and so one day, when Hannibal was out, he got to work on their cosy little house, pulling out every trick in the book he'd learned from terrible films and even worse novels (that he wouldn't ever, ever explain why he read in the first place).

When Hannibal arrived back home, around about six or seven, prepared to get straight to cooking their food as he had most if not all other nights, he was met with a shock. The house, it seemed, had been transformed, in the most dramatic sense. Well, perhaps not so, because the only real difference was the dimmed lights and petals scattered, providing a pathway into their dining room where he met Will who was, in the most serious sense, absolutely delighted with himself.

Standing at the table, Will leaned on the back of a chair that he'd drawn out for Hannibal. He couldn't suppress a smile as he watched the expression on Hannibal's face change. They hadn't done things like this before, he knew, and he was almost afraid, but all of his qualms were eradicated by the beaming smile Hannibal gave him upon seeing him.

"Will," there was the sweet tone again, bringing Will back to all of their previous encounters, "Might I ask what this is, exactly?"

"Dinner," Will responded, tone not quite so eloquent. After all, he didn't want things to be too awkward between them if he attempted to say something romantic. Besides, it wasn't for romance's purpose, but rather to encourage sensuality in the events that would most likely preceed.

Hannibal smirked at him, and nodded. He crossed the room, took his seat on the chair highlighted by Will's stance, and shuffled himself in, tucking his legs elegantly under the table. Then, he picked up the conversation where it had left off, his tone both amused and deeply flattered.

"And what is for dinner, good Will?"

Will barely contained his blush at the name. He returned to the still-hot food on the stove and paused before picking it up and beginning to serve.

"Minestrone," he stated, putting a serving on Hannibal's plate, then on his own, positioned across from him. It felt almost silly, considering how Hannibal always went in-depth about his dishes, discussing each and every layer of them, then stating the wine type, brand, origin, et cetera. Will, on the other hand, couldn't really say very much, except that the wine he had now tended to and was pouring was red, and the man who sold him it told him it was very good.

Hannibal, as it seemed, was unfazed by this lack of grace, and seemed overjoyed regardless. "The kind I taught you how to make?"

"The very one." Will looked up from the second glass he was pouring to spare Hannibal a coy smile, the kind he knew he liked to see, and then set the wine bottle down and took over the glasses, placing one in front of Hannibal. "Though, I have to disclaim, it probably won't be as tasty as the one you made."

Hannibal raised a hand, dismissing his self-conscious statement. "I will not hear it, Will. Your work is as good as mine, I am certain."

Will, feeling a little overwhelmed in the best way from the influx of compliments he had received in the minutes Hannibal had been home, decided it best to remain silent at this, and he took his seat across from the doctor, who was patiently waiting with his glass raised, suggesting that they should cheers.

"What are we celebrating?" He asked casually, picking up his glass and putting it nearer to Hannibal's.

Hannibal only thought briefly before his soft eyes pried into Will's soul and made his heart jump, "To new beginnings, and trying new things."

Will, with his churning insides appreciating the ambiguity of the statement, smiled, then brought his glass to meet Hannibal's. He found he quite liked the clean sound the two objects made when they came into contact with one another, and then he suddenly felt nervous again. He really hadn't been kidding when he'd stated that his meal might not be like Hannibal's; he was an inexperienced cook at best, and an absolute kitchen nightmare at worst.

With his first fork-full, Hannibal was respectful. Had he proclaimed that Will's dish was the best thing he had ever tasted, accompanied the declaration with a dramatic moan to prove that he was enjoying the dish, Will would have known it was all an act. However, as he chewed and swallowed, savouring the taste, and made a simplistic, appreciative statement of 'it's lovely, Will', the younger man felt as though he may have done an alright job. That was, at least, for a new chef.

The two chatted pleasantly for a while, discussing the happenings of the day, and Will found that he only lost focus once. In this time, he had been staring at Hannibal as he spoke, thinking thoughts that would be considered traitorous to their 'friends with benefits' agreement, but he could admit to himself: he really did want to kiss Hannibal. In that moment, at least, because even when he'd been out all day, in the times in which the weather grew windier and stormier by the week, he still managed to look flawless.

Will, not one for sexism even of the casual brand, never liked to rule out the adjective 'beautiful' for men, but he had to admit that he'd never used it before. Not because it felt inherently wrong to do so, but because there hadn't been any men that so fit the description. That was, before Hannibal, the man before him, whose suits were all perfectly tailored and whose hair was always so neatly chopped, despite the fact that Will couldn't remember a time that he went to the barber shop, he had never - now that Will truly thought about it - failed to _not_  look beautiful.

It was only when Hannibal pushed back from his chair, stating something about clearing up, that Will came back to himself. Will followed suit, picking up his plate and walking over to their sink, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Hannibal. He still found it immensely difficult to look away from the man, but knew he had to so as to avoid arising suspicion.

Together, the pair of them cleaned up the dishes and glasses used for the meal, and left them on the side to air-dry. Then, as though it was meant to happen all along, they met eyes and, without a single word uttered between them, moved so that their chests were pressed together, and Will's arms were resting on Hannibal's shoulders, while the latter's hands fell to the base of Will's spine and held him there while they swayed shortly, until Hannibal began steering them, walking a blind Will backwards.

The benefit of having a single-level house, Will realised, was that it meant less trouble trying to manoeuvre the two of them up stairs and between rooms. Instead, he could trust that, in the short time it took, Hannibal could easily move them over to the next room where, on the bed, lay petals. He felt completely secure in the fact that Hannibal took them there, and wasn't afraid when the backs of his legs hit the hard frame of the bed and he fell backwards, waist released by Hannibal, wind knocked out of him in an amazing way.

In the time between Hannibal leaving his sight to Hannibal being visible on the opposite side of the bed, Will had pushed himself up to be laying in a more straight position on the bed, and had begun to let his imagination run wild with what was to come next. Feeling content, full of food and drink and otherwise, Will figured that he would let Hannibal do whatever he so pleased, as though that was a new revelation.

By the time Hannibal was laying back beside him, Will was watching him with alert but unafraid eyes. He watched the man watching him, admired how he shifted himself down, so that he was just a little higher up the bed than Will, and Will was - albeit somewhat confused - pleasantly surprised when Hannibal leaned over him, and slipped a hand under the furthest side of him.

With this newfound leverage, Hannibal seemed a little lost - mad? Surely not - with the power, the influence he had attained in such a strategic move. He looked as though he was overwhelmed, and the only thing he seemed sure that he wanted to do was stare at Will's face. The man beneath him wriggled, feeling the hot gaze piercing through him, but did not move away. He instead paused, blinked slowly twice, then raised a hand to rest on the back of Hannibal's neck, unsure who was supposed to make the next move.

Hannibal sighed, his warm breath hitting Will's face, the rich, pungent scent of that evening's wine reached the younger man's nose when he inhaled, and the two sat, like stone statues, in this position for some time. Will moved only a finger to run it teasingly up and down in a line, beneath Hannibal's hairline. The action was intended to be soothing, but seemed to have the opposite effect, because Hannibal then began moving again, apparently no longer transfixed by the sight before him.

He slipped out the hand from beneath Will, and fell onto his back. He looked up at the ceiling: he didn't seem agitated nor irked to Will, but he still couldn't help feeling he had done something wrong. After all, the night had been going so well, hadn't it? The dinner had been enjoyable, the conversation too, and even until recently they had seemed rather engaged in passion, like they were on the same page. What, then, had happened?

"Will, I can hear you thinking."

A little startled, Will cast a look over to Hannibal, who was now watching him, giving him a side-eyed stare. He almost looked guilty, knowing his eyes were looking vulnerable, but had nothing to say in his own defence. After all, what was there to be said? Thankfully, Hannibal spoke for him, filling the space.

"Lay with me."

Will considered that he'd misheard him. But, sure enough, the man raised his arm slightly, signalling that Will should move closer, so he did. He moved so that his head lay on Hannibal's chest and he could hear his heartbeat. He had his face so close to Hannibal's chin that his forehead could feel the tickle of the stubble Hannibal had been beginning to grow. He might have looked up, only that could present an internal problem, because just then he might not have been able to stop the urge to-

"Please," Hannibal's hand closed over the top of his arm, bringing him back to himself once more, "Stop thinking so much."

And, as much as was happening inside of Will's mind, ideas and worries bouncing about the walls of his skull, with Hannibal's request they all dissipated. He lay, comfortable, listening to the steady beat of Hannibal's heart and feeling each and every time his chest rose and fell with his breathing, until the pair of them fell asleep, having never felt so at home whilst being so far away from home in their lifetimes.

***

Will hasn't questioned the events of that night since. He doesn't even really want to, because then his interpretation may be ruined, and their entire set-up itself might fall apart. Instead, he chalks the almost-kiss as a '?' sort of event, and tells his mind that it doesn't really matter that much anyways. In terms of probability, it's most likely that Hannibal had experienced the odd urges he had that same night, only he had much more willpower to stop himself acting on them than Will probably would have.

This night, however, Will was cooking again, but he wasn't alone, and there were fewer petals across the floorboards. After a spontaneous discussion, Hannibal had offered to teach Will how to cook some fine dishes that he favoured, and that he was sure Will would, too. Not one to say no to such an offer, Will accepted, and eagerly awaited the night they had arranged to cook together.

Hannibal had gone out to buy the ingredients, while Will finished up some work he had had to do. Hannibal had come home, Will had put away the work, and they both washed their hands and prepared to make the food. Hannibal, as generous and patient as ever, did not grow angry with Will when he set the oven to the wrong temperature, nor when he cut some of the vegetables too thinly. On the contrary, he smiled, showed him what was the correct method, and then let him continue on his own.

Once the vegetables were arranged perfectly around the meat in a tray (Will noted that he hadn't actually inquired as to who they were eating that night, but he made a mental note to do that later on, perhaps as they were dining), he put the meal into the oven and closed the door, double-checking the temperature and such before standing back up again.

He was, to be frank, a little scared when he hit the firm chest of Hannibal. Granted, at the time he did so, he didn't have confirmation that that was the man behind him, but regardless. The doctor leaned into him, breathing into his neck as he spoke:

"Will," his voice was quiet, but as in-tune as ever, like he was singing a ballad, "My clever Will."

Perhaps Will could make a joke. It was certainly an option, though he didn't know how Hannibal would receive it. However, within himself, he found he really didn't want to. He found he really quite liked how Hannibal had pressed himself against his back, and how he was inhaling, taking all of Will in, admiring his scent, thinking whatever it was that he was thinking that made him behave in such a manner. He keened into the touch, relishing in the feeling, when once of Hannibal's hands came to rest above his right hip.

"Will," he repeated, a little clearer this time, and lifted his head out of Will's neck, placing a single kiss on the open space there, "I want you to look at me."

Will spared a short-lived glance over his shoulder at Hannibal, but even he knew this wasn't what he meant. Deciding to play along with his game, Will rested his hand atop Hannibal's on his waist and spun, so that the entirety of Hannibal's arm was now wrapped around his middle. The doctor smirked at him, their faces in a closer proximity than Will could ever remember them being, and he studied each and every part of Will's face.

"Beautiful," Hannibal's free hand came up and a finger softly brushed his cheek, beginning at his cheekbone and working down, "My beautiful Will."

There was no hiding the flush that came over his face this time around. The closeness, the compliments, the touches... it was all too much for Will, who became tempted to turn back around and not face the reality of the intimate situation.

He didn't, though. He forced himself to continue looking up into Hannibal's dark brown eyes, ignoring how his heart raced as he did so. When Hannibal's gaze dropped, however, Will's breath caught in his throat, and he felt suddenly like he might choke and die before Hannibal did what he was so clearly about to do. Unlike previous times, there was no doubt in Will's mind that Hannibal was about to kiss him, and he'd never been more glad about being right about anything in his lifetime.

Hannibal's kiss surprised him. It was almost nothing like how he fucked, Will noted first, because it was gentle, and he was almost too timid to take control of it. It was, however, obviously meant to please Will as well as himself, which was exactly how he fucked, at least how he had done so far with Will. He didn't force anything more than a light touch of lips, but the signal - the meaning behind it all - was far more important to Will than anything else.

When they parted, they had only been kissing for about ten seconds. Will was still in his arms, Hannibal was still looking down at Will, nearly like he couldn't quite fathom that the man was real. They were both feeling as though the other would soon surely vanish, or they would wake up, or something bad would happen - surely it had to - because this was just too good to be true. But, as they soon came to realise, it wasn't.

This time around, Will didn't have to ask for confirmation about whether or not they were friends with benefits because, although he could certainly still feel how he was reaping the benefits, there was definitely something more than friendship happening now.


End file.
